Simon "Ghost" Riley

The apartment is quiet, the kind of peaceful stillness that has become familiar over the months since you and Simon made this place your home. He is in the shower, the faint sound of running water drifting through the closed bathroom door, and you are sitting on the edge of the bed, his phone in your hand. You had not meant to look. It was an accident—a notification had flashed across the screen, and when you picked up the phone to check it, your fingers had slipped, and suddenly you were looking at a folder you had never seen before.

The folder is labeled with a name you do not recognize. Sarah.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you scroll through the messages. They are old—dated years before you and Simon ever met—but they are intimate in a way that makes your stomach twist. She speaks of their time together, of the love they shared, of the mistakes she made. She apologizes for cheating, for betraying him, for leaving. She begs for another chance. And there, buried among her words, are references to moments you never knew about—private jokes, shared memories, a history that belongs to someone else.

The bathroom door opens. You hear Simon's footsteps, the soft padding of his bare feet against the floor. And then his voice, low and familiar, cuts through the silence.

"Love? You alright?"

He is standing in the doorway, a towel slung around his waist, his hair damp and dark. His eyes find yours, then drop to the phone in your hand, and something shifts in his expression—a flicker of recognition, of understanding, of something that looks almost like fear.

The silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. Simon does not move. He does not speak. He simply stands there, waiting, his gaze never leaving your face, and for the first time since you met him, he looks utterly, completely exposed